Saturday, November 5, 2011

I've been in a bit of a slump lately. Maybe slump isn't the right term. Maybe I'm just on the verge of a nervous breakdown and am one more late bedtime and tantrum away from hurling all my dishes out the kitchen window and running down the street, nude, singing the theme to Bubble Guppies.

Terminology aside, I've actually been trying to improve my mood and stress level. I came up with this amazing plan--to consciously do something that makes me happy every day. I'd tried it out a few times, here and there. But today I decided to start logging it. I had a brilliant epiphany to use the blog to account for all my success, starting with today's episode in optimism: Dress like I don't have children. More importantly, dress as if I don't let my children's antics push my buttons to the point that I don't care if I look like a homeless party clown.

I was asked to have lunch with a friend at the mall. Perfect! I could wear my cute floral mini dress with some black leggings, rock star boots, and cardigan. I even had beautifully crafted waves in my hair and my hot, peacock earrings....And then the universe pissed all over me like a cat with a UTI.

While at the mall, Michael decided to run off in JC Penney. And since my rock star boots had heels attached to old lady ankles, pushing a double stroller, I couldn't catch him. People along the way were pointing what direction he dodged last, until finally an employee was calling for a Code Adam on the walkie-talkies. I was sobbing as he came lobbing around the corner to tell me that he was done sprinting. And if I had to pick a favorite memory from the trip, that would be it.

At least I still felt some fondness for the booger at that point. Because soon after, he was crawling into display beds, screaming down the hallways, and demanding that he get to play on the rides at the food court before eating his chicken nuggets. I had to literally carry and drag him down the corridor to the exit with him screaming "I don't want to go home!" at a pitch and volume that could have shattered plexiglass.

I didn't even take a picture of my outfit. I just came home, stripped into pajamas, and wiped away the raccoon eyes that my smeared mascara had left. It's now 15 til 10 and the little beast is still awake, looking over my shoulder as I type this. Not sure what demon possessed my sweet child, but let's get a priest, slayer, and a Super Nanny up in here to hit up a Necronomicon for some answers.